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Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrastled?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover. But take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp’d acorn.

Ros. It may well be call’d Jove’s tree, when it drops [such] fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.

Ros. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he, stretch’d along, like a wounded knight.

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

Cel. Cry “holla” to [thy] tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnish’d like a hunter.

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen; thou bring’st me out of tune.

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?

Ros. ’Tis he. Slink by, and note him.

Jaq. I thank you for your company, but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.